


I'll Call You When I'm Ready

by 09cityskylights



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Androids, Angst with a Happy Ending, Black Mirror - Freeform, M/M, New Mexico
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25213822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/09cityskylights/pseuds/09cityskylights
Summary: Based on the episode "Be Right Back" of the show Black Mirror. Takes place post border episode. Written before new seasons.Even after a year in Mexico, Mickey is not moving on. Seeing Mickey's pain, his employer signs him up for a new and advanced technology, hacking it to bring Ian back into his life. As the technology grows from IM's, to phone calls, to a lifelike android, like the real Ian in almost every single way, Mickey has to decide if that's enough for him.Kind of a strange piece of fiction but the episode of Black Mirror made me think of Mickey a lot...and this is based on it in several ways except for the beginning and ending.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 15
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a couple years ago and found it saved in one of my drives- I'm not actively writing anymore but thought I should share an old work! Will upload in entirety this weekend.

“Here, that’s a fat cut. Milkovich”.

Mickey reaches a tattooed hand out to take his thick stack of cash like the other men standing around him in the cramped office are, each of them taking their own well-earned piece now that the payment’s finally come through.

All the other young brown men standing are him are fucking stoked, cheering and exclaiming in light-hearted Spanish about what their _esposas_ and _la novias_ will say as they count their precious bills, but the latest and greatest number running scam on the Banamex bank does fuck all to lift the never-ending home sick and empty feeling in Mickey’s chest.

Instead of celebrating with the others like they used to invite him to, as per usual he simply takes the pile of cash that’s his and heads outside for a much-needed cigarette, leaning his back against the concrete office building while he smokes, his narrow blue eyes truly searching for nothing in the dusty and barren landscape ahead of himself.

While the rest of the men he’d worked with on the Banamex job eventually file out of the office one by one to go home in triumph, his Marlboro cigarette slowly burns down to nothing but an ashen stub. One of the few things out here that make him feel like he’s still home, and they never last long enough.

After this Banamex job, none of them will _have_ to work for months, much to Mickey’s dismay, and furthermore they won’t, to keep off police radar. Greed would equate risk.

But how the fuck is he supposed to distract himself from his depressing life without even work to keep busy with? For once in his life, his fucking job is his saving grace, the only thing that keeps him from drowning in his goddamn loneliness, and now he’s got months to fill… and absolutely nothing to fill them with.

Before he leaves the undercover office lot purposefully situated in the middle of nowhere in his beat-up old Jeep to spend the night watching Mexican soaps he doesn’t give two shits about (while he also gets black-out drunk), his boss comes outside and gestures at him.

Lucien Martín was a middle-aged conman who somehow took pity on Mickey when he had noticed him spending almost all of his nights repeatedly trying to drown himself in alcohol at the same shithole of a bar, night after night, when he first got here.

“Can I talk you for a sec Mikhailo?” Lucien asks firmly, crossing his hairy arms as he squints over at him in the early afternoon sunlight.

It took a lot of coaxing and a lot booze, but after eventually talking to him about his persistent reason for being there, and later on offering Mickey a chance to work for him, in the end Lucien sort of gave him a reason to at least try and make a life for himself out here. So he kind of owes him.

“Sure” Mickey answers with a shrug, grinding his work boot over his dropped cigarette stub. Not like he’s in a fuckin rush to get back to his empty house, the grey silence, and the half-empty bottle of liquor on top of his fridge.

Lucien’s firm gaze stays steady on him, and Mickey shifts uncomfortably, wondering what he’s going to say. Maybe he doesn’t need him for the numbers jobs anymore. Maybe he just doesn’t want his sulking ass around when the rest of his crew is so goddamn happy to do the work. But if either of those are the case, he’s not sure he cares anymore.

“I know you’ll be pissy about it _hermano_ , but I got you something” Lucien says, “Took it out of your cut actually. It helped my old friend once, shell of a guy after he lost his poor wife”.

Mickey immediately frowns, turning his entire body stiffly towards the other man, less concerned about the money being taken from his cut than the last part of his sentence. “The fuck you getting at?” he says in a low voice.

He knows without a fucking doubt that Lucien is talking about Ian. It took about six months for him to finally admit in a drunken state why he was a fucking fugitive in Mexico to his pressuring yet caring boss, but for the most part they hadn’t spoken of it since then.

So he’s wondering why the fuck its coming up now.

Lucien smiles, one of his golden teeth glinting in the left side of his mouth as he exhales with a chuff, “I can’t stand your moping attitude anymore my friend. I think you need closure. This something I have will let you speak with him… and don’t worry, its not some crazy spiritual thing _hermano_. It’s a technology, still in its beta, but I have access to it”.

Mickey’s head is spinning now, and for one heart pounding moment, he thinks Lucien might have found a way to safely contact Ian, who he was certain did not want to hear from him. Not after everything that had happened. Not after the boyfriend he had gone back home to.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he demands, his pale skin practically crawling as the painful feelings come washing back over him, making his entire body tense up.

Lucien continues, solemnly explaining what he had apparently arranged for Mickey without consulting him first. Maybe because he knew he’d never agree to it willingly. 

“This software, this technology…it analyzes all the conversations you’ve ever had with him through the internet or through a phone service. All the videos, all the photos, he’s ever shared, liked, commented on, whatever. All the profiles he owns, and everything he has done on them. Anything you can think of. And then even your own memories eventually…Normally you can only get it for someone who’s died…but in our business…”

Mickey struggles to understand what Lucien’s getting at, the very idea of talking to Ian in any form almost an entire fucking year later making him feel like he needs to throw up, or hurt someone. Maybe both. Questions come spilling out of him instead, angry, hurt and confused.

“You hacked the software? So I could what, talk to my ex that ditched me at the border? And not even him, just some _fucking computer_ that acts like him?” he demands, feeling his temper heat up.

Seeing his strongly negative reaction, Lucien steps back away from him passively, shaking his greying head before he heads out towards his black SUV parked just a few spots away from Mickey’s beat up old Jeep.

“Listen, you don’t have to do it Mikhailo, you can just ignore the start-up email you will get. But I think you should try it. You type your messages in, and it answers you just like he would. Its software mimics his personality. Just say hello to it. Give it a chance my friend. The more info it has, the more it is him”.

Lucien, now done with his short-lived speech, closes his car door behind himself and gives Mickey a brief nod before he drives slowly past him out of the lot. After a few moments of silence in the empty lot with nothing for company but the remaining dust, Mickey drives home in a fuming rage with more determination than ever to get drunk that night, and forget everything he’d left behind. 

-

A week later, with still nothing presenting itself to fill his empty days with anything more than burning whiskey and cheap cigarettes, Mickey opens the email app on the phone he’d bought in Mexico almost nine months earlier, biting his chapped lip painfully when he sees the sixth email in a lineup of ignored ones.

He had known it would be there, but it still felt like a punch in the gut.

**From** : Ian Gallagher

Hey.

Mickey stares at the single word in the message line for a long time, reminding himself that it’s just a computer emailing him. Not Ian. But the familiar profile photo beside the name is fucking with his head.

He should just delete the email. Send it to the trash folder, or the spam one.

But he can’t.

Mickey touches his screen to open the email, almost flinching when the popup immediately appears, bold black text on his screen with a pulsing red animated button encouraging him in the middle.

**_Touch to talk._ **

As if it were that simple. Fucking bullshit. Probably has pre-set messages to send out based on trigger words.

Mickey lights another cigarette, then holds it between his tightly pursed lips as he presses the red button, telling himself he’s only doing it to see how fucking pointless it is.

**_Loading…_ **

A conversation screen pops up, with Ian’s profile picture icon at the top of it and a prompt that announces, _“Say hi!”_

Hating himself the second his heart starts to beat faster, Mickey numbly types on the letter buttons at the bottom of his screen.

**Mickey:** That you Gallagher?

What a stupid thing to ask he thinks, kicking himself internally. But his heart leaps again when the typing icon shows up beside Ian’s name, a burning feeling washing over his gut as he pictures Ian writing back to him.

**…**

**Ian:** Of course its me.

Fuck. Mickey shakes a little as he types out his response, anger starting to flicker in his veins again.

**Mickey:** I only came here to say one thing.

**Ian:** Which thing?

**Mickey:** Fuck you.

**…**

**Ian:** I’m sorry Mick. I wish I was there with you now, honestly. 

Fuck. His eyes rapidly starting to fill with hot and stinging tears, Mickey grits his teeth, cigarette smoke fuming out from between his lips as he types out one more message before immediately closing the app.

**Mickey:** No you fucking don’t.

He holds off opening the text conversation again until he gets heavily drunk again two nights later, and he can’t help but give digital Ian shit again. All he had been thinking about for the past two days was that last message.

**Mickey:** Must be nice having a fuckin computer apologize for your ass.

The response comes quickly.

**Ian:** Yeah, I never was good at apologies.

Mickey blinks at the phone screen. Jesus Christ it sounds like Ian…. but it’s just words. He shakes his head before he types out his response, his house so empty and quiet except for the little noises of disbelief or frustration he himself makes every so often.

**Mickey:** This is stupid. Can’t even pretend its you.

**Ian:** We can speak. You can hear my voice, if it would help.

Wait what? Hear his…? Ignoring everything but his desperation to hear Ian talk again, Mickey responds immediately.

**Mickey:** How?

**Ian:** Hold on.

Looking down when he hears a loud beep, Mickey sees his phone screen become a digitalized blur, with warped phone conversations sounding through the speakers in hyper speed fast forward, and instant flashes of old pictures and videos of Ian and the two of them together mixing on the screen, like a vortex is pulling them in to further create Ian’s digitized profile.

One last typed message pops up before his screen goes blank.

**Ian:** I’ll call you when I’m ready.


	2. Chapter 2

Mickey sighs, immediately getting up from his place on the couch to go to the kitchen to grab his bottle of liquor again.

This is just a crazy head fuck, and he’s going to wait likely hours to hear what? A recording of an old phone conversation him and Ian had? Chopped up to make a new one or something?

He’s going down the rabbit hole by doing this, he _knows_ that, and he’s not happy about it. But it’s like a drug, having contact with Ian. He needs more. Just a little more.

He’s almost at the fridge where he keeps his full-size liquor bottles that he’s starting to lean more heavily on, when his phone starts to ring loudly. Glancing down quickly at the screen with sharp eyes, a heavy lump forms in Mickey’s throat as he sees Ian’s picture appear on it, the ringing sound repeating again and again.

“Ian” is apparently calling him.

Mickey pauses, his trembling thumb hovering for just a moment before he slides it across the screen to pick up, holding the phone to his ear with a shaking hand.

His voice is hoarse, and it cracks when he speaks, cutting through the heavy silence in his house.

“Hello?”

The line crackles and then…then he hears Ian’s voice. Warm. Familiar. Ian. 

“So…how am I sounding?”

Mickey almost drops the fucking phone. He freezes in the middle of his dark and dingy kitchen, staring at the call screen with wide eyes until phone Ian speaks again, sounding confused now, thinking he couldn’t hear him.

“…Hello?”

“You… _you sound just like him_ ” Mickey whispers frantically, running a tattooed hand through his dark hair. How could this be possible?

He hears a familiar and wonderful laugh on the other end, “Almost creepy isn’t? I mean, its pretty much batshit crazy actually. I can talk to you”.

“That’s… that’s exactly what he would say” Mickey mutters, his voice hoarse and low again. He doesn’t understand. This isn’t an old conversation at all. It’s an entirely new one, like Ian is on the phone with him _now._

“That’s why I said it” phone Ian replies promptly, sounding almost a little playful.

Mickey shakes his head firmly, his vision starting to blur, and its not from the alcohol. His head is aching. “I think I’m going fucking crazy” he whispers, shutting his eyes tightly. Is this just some fucked up dream?

He’s lost his mind, hasn’t he? Finally gone from loneliness.

He hears a disagreeing tsk. “I know crazy Mickey. You aren’t crazy. And even if you were, I wouldn’t tell anyone. Promise”.

Mickey tries to speak. Tries to pull up some words, any words, in response to that. But only a choked sound whistles through his strained throat as he tries to keep his pain from escaping in sound, and he hears a pause on the end of the line.

“You’re not crying… are you Mick?” phone Ian asks softly, sounding concerned.

“No” Mickey lies in a gasp, pressing his pale fingers against his tightly closed eyes as the tears spill over his thumb and forefinger anyways. God…he thought he’d never hear this voice again.

“Say something else” he pleads, taking his fingers away and letting the tears fall.

Ian laughs softly, and begins to tell him a story. And Mickey’s chest still feels so heavy, but also so full, for the first time in almost a year.

_One Week Later_

Mickey huffs in exertion as he finishes climbing up the steep and grassy hill, far enough up now that he has a decent view of crystal blue ocean rolling below the cliffs he is standing near to.

He hears Ian humming to himself through the speaker, keeping himself entertained.

“You know, it’s kinda funny, you were never that good at answering the phone when we were together” Mickey says teasingly, panting as he sits down in the long grass for a break. He digs through his bag for the dried jerky he brought as a snack, tearing it off and chewing at it while he catches his breath.

“We are together” Ian answers plainly, and Mickey smiles sadly as he looks out over the water, the empty landscape around him. He doesn’t argue. For some reason he has an irrational fear that this Ian will hang up on him. Stop answering the phone one day for no reason at all.

For the past week, he’d come to rely on these phone calls. In fact, they rarely ended. Sometimes he fell asleep on the phone with this Ian.

“Wish you could see this. You were always going on about fucking sunsets” he says, putting the beef jerky away. He’d climbed out to the bluffs today with a backpack and Ian on speakerphone the entire time, while they talked and teased each other the entire way, just like they used to.

“You talk about me like I’m not here” phone Ian says, his tone sounding almost hurt.

“Uh…sorry” Mickey says a little awkwardly. He scratches the back of his neck. He’s comfortable talking to this Ian, the emptiness in his life feeling soothed so much by his familiar voice, but sometimes he forgets it’s not the _real_ Ian. There’s less and less difference by the day.

“It’s okay, I’m not really” phone Ian laughs, before asking inquisitively, “Show me what you see? Use the camera on your phone, so I can see everything”.

Mickey opens up the camera on the phone while Ian’s voice continues to tease, “You should have gone on some of those runs around the neighborhood with me Mick, then you wouldn’t be breathing so hard”.

“Shut up and cop a load of this” Mickey answers, panning his camera over the view. He hears Ian hum his appreciation at all the natural beauty, and his heart warms at the sound of it. But then his phone starts ringing, the harsh tone interrupting the tender moment and yanking him back into his reality.

The reality he’d been avoiding all week, and the one he knew he’d eventually have to return to.

“Should I go?” Ian’s voice asks politely.

Mickey looks down at his phone, sees Lucien’s name on the screen. Not yet. “No, no… I’ll call them back later”.


	3. Chapter 3

When Lucien calls again later that night, Mickey can hear the initial concern in his friend’s voice.

“Mickey? How many fucking times do I have to go to voicemail? Jesus, was starting to think maybe you offed yourself”.

Mickey chews the inside of his cheek, “Sorry. I’ve been, uh… busy. You got a new job for us to do or something?”

For once, he hopes Lucien doesn’t. He doesn’t want to spend time with other people right now.

“No” Lucien answers with a tut, “And I hope you are making that cash from Banamex last. The rest of us are careful about these scams, because we have to be. We can’t run them constantly or it looks suspicious. You’ll never be a millionaire doing this”.

“Right” Mickey answers, putting up the photo he had printed out and framed onto his mantle in front of the fireplace. It’s one of him and Ian together, that “phone” Ian had called up for him from his digital files. They are both making goofy faces in it… it used to be real Ian’s phone screen.

Breaking the silence, Lucien clears his throat. “So I know you opened the email, because I didn’t get a cancellation refund. Is it helping? Talking to him?”

Mickey hesitates before he answers, not wanting to let on how much time he spends on the phone now. “Yeah…I guess”.

“Good” Lucien says, “And if you want it, I can give you the address of my friend’s lab where you can have your scan done. They will implement your memories with and of him into the software, and it will round out his personality the rest of the way. Gives you more options”.

Mickey glances towards the photo on the mantle again before he answers, brushing away his fears that he is falling too deeply into the software.

“I’ll do it”.

-

As soon as he leaves the lab Lucien had mentioned a few days later, Mickey pulls his cell phone out to call Ian and tell him about the process of having his memories scanned, crossing the parking lot in a hurry.

He can’t wait to get home, and have privacy with his phone again. With Ian.

“Ian?” he asks happily, when the ringing tone stops.

“Mickey!” Ian’s replying voice sounds warm and excited, eager to hear about his day. “I’m going to update soon, w-”

Mickey accidently trips over some loose gravel disguising a pothole, his phone immediately flying out of his hand and crashing to the cement of parking lot with a clatter.

“Fuck!” he screams, instantly scrambling to pick it up. “Ian? _Ian!”_ he shouts into his slightly battered looking phone, his heart racing. It looks okay but it doesn’t sound good- the other end of the cutting out constantly.

_“Mi-“_

_“I-“_

_“You-“_

He can hear a warped sound, and then Ian’s voice completely disappears, his phone screen turning black.

“No no no” Mickey moans. _He can’t fucking lose him_ , not again. He drives home in a frantic rush with his dead phone in the passenger seat beside him, barely staying within the speed limits and carelessly leaving his car door wide open after he dashes out of the Jeep and runs inside the house to plug in his phone. Nothing matters but this. Nothing matters but Ian.

After a few terrifying minutes with his eyes squeezed shut, and his heart still racing while he waits for his phone to reboot, he hears Ian’s voice again.

“…Ouch”.

He just about cries with relief, “ _Ian?_ Fuck. Ian? Jesus Christ, sorry I-”

“It’s fine” Ian interrupts his rambling apology reassuringly, “I’m not in that thing you know. I’m in the cloud, and it’s all remote. So calm down, ok? I’m really not going anywhere Mick. I promise”.

Mickey nods firmly, unable to find his voice at the moment, his relief is so fucking palpable. He holds his phone carefully to his ear, his heart beat slowing as he hears the reassuring sound of Ian breathing, before Ian speaks again, sounding tentative.

“There…there is another level of this available Mick, now that you did your scan…but its kind of experimental still. It might sound a bit creepy... are you sitting down?”

-

“What is this, block of gold?” The delivery guy laughs, grunting as him and his partner wheel the gigantic box into Mickey’s house on a dolly.

Mickey tries to act like he finds that funny, but he’s too fucking distracted to laugh at anything right now, “Ha-ha. Just bring it upstairs. Lie it flat” he says, watching anxiously as they carry it up the stairs. He wants to bark at them to be fucking careful with it, but then they might be rough on purpose, just to be assholes. Not worth the risk.

As soon as they leave though, he locks the front door and darts up the stairs, finding the box resting in the hallway. It’s fucking gigantic, a few inches even longer and wider than he is. He puts his phone down on the floor and uses his pocket knife to cut the box open, trying hard to control his jumping nerves.

The next “level” Ian had described to him of the technology sounded like something out of a science fiction movie…like a dream come true. Or maybe a nightmare. He wasn’t sure which one yet.

But he was like an addict now, always needing more. Of course he had to try this.

When his phone rings, he answers it distractedly, and its Ian of course. He listens to Ian chatter about the next level of technology as he opens the box, but his heart falls when he moves the packing peanuts around and sees it, running his hands over the slightly wet figure.

It’s a blank human android. Not colorless, it’s slightly peachier than his own skin tone, but it doesn’t have any facial features, like a mannequin at a mall.

“Never was much of a looker I guess huh?” Ian jokes, hearing his sudden silence.

“It doesn’t look like you” Mickey immediately answers, biting back his bitter disappointment as he uncovers more of it. The fuck is he gonna do with this creepy and useless android?

“Not yet” Ian says cheerfully, “It’s blank til you activate it. Get the bath ready”.

Mickey obediently runs the bath water, carefully carrying the blank android towards the tub just like Ian tells him to. It’s limp and heavy, just like a real human body, but completely blank. It’s the weirdest fucking thing he’s ever seen or touched, and his hands feel slimy after he puts it down into the water.

“The fuck is this shit?” he mutters, wiping it off on his shirt.

“The blank form goes into the tub with its nutrient gel, keeps the muscle from drying out” Ian answers, patient as ever.

“Smells like fuckin marshmallow” Mickey says, giving his hands a sniff.

“Haha, don’t forget the electrolytes” Ian chimes in. Mickey grabs the little packet from the shipping box and tears it open, pausing before he pours it over the body. “The whole lot?”

“Mhmm, all of it”.

“It’s like fish food” Mickey comments as he sprinkles it, still cringing a bit at the blank male body laying in his tub. He’s torn between wanting this to work perfectly, and wanting it not to work at all.

“Better leave him to it. I have to go in a minute” Ian answers, suddenly sounding abrupt.

Mickey hesitates, getting up from the tub and grabbing for his phone, “Don’t leave me here with it” he blurts, unable to help himself. It really is creeping him out.

“I have to go” Ian answers, “Don’t switch the bathroom light on…let it brew in the dark. I have to go”.

As soon as Ian’s voice disappears and the call ends, Mickey leaves the bathroom, pulling the door tightly shut behind himself. What the fuck was he thinking, agreeing to this? Jesus…there’s an _android_ coming to life in his fucking bathroom right now, morphing into Ian.

He feels like Doctor Frankenstein as he smokes in agitation and gnaws on his already short nails downstairs, hearing bubbling every so often from the tub upstairs, and a gentle splashing here and there. Something’s _alive_ up there.

Anxiously, he tries calling Ian on his phone, but the call won’t even go through.

He drinks even more to settle his nerves, gulping down whiskey as the night falls darker, prodding at the fire he made in the fireplace just to have something to do while the alcohol starts to lull his mind into acceptance of what he’s done.

And then, sometime around maybe one in the morning, after a long period of silence, he hears human footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs. He freezes where he is standing in front of the fire place, turning around very slowly.

Mickey blinks automatically in shock, taking a cautious step back involuntarily when he sees _it._

Ian. Ian in every single way, standing there at the bottom of the stairs, naked and dripping.


	4. Chapter 4

“You could’ve left me some clothes. Talk about an undignified entrance” Ian laughs, touching his bare, toned stomach just above where wisps of red hair begin again. 

He looks at Mickey expectantly.

Mickey’s mouth opens but no words come out. He’s just…numb, his eyes the only part of him moving as they dart across Ian’s entire body.

This…this can’t be real.

“That’s a bit fuckin creepy, what you’re doing” Ian tries to joke again, but after another extended moment of shocked silence in response he finally asks, “…. Can I at least have a towel? I’m dripping everywhere”.

-

An hour later, and android Ian is finally dried and dressed, but they are both sitting on opposite ends of the couch.

Ian is patiently staring at Mickey while he gulps whiskey and smokes cigarette after cigarette, definitely drunk and still absolutely numb.

He had just barely managed to come out of his stupor to hand Ian a towel and a set of dry clothes, and now… now he can barely look at him.

As much as he wants to…it all feels wrong.

Android Ian tries to reach out and warmly touch his hand, like they have been an intimate couple for a long time, to reassure him. “I won’t bite” he promises.

Mickey immediately moves his hand from the contact though, gentle as he’s being, “I’m good here for now”.

Ian takes his hand away considerately and hums as he looks around the room, “Want me to make you some food?” he asks hopefully, “Pancakes?”

Mickey almost laughs, almost. But he feels too weak to, almost dizzy now. “Do you even fucking eat?” he asks, glancing over at Ian before quickly averting his eyes again.

He really had no idea what he had gotten himself into by ordering the android. He just…jumped at the fucking suggestion when Ian shared it with him. He made it sound so good over the phone, _“I’ll be there with you, in person”._

But that was Mickey’s hang-up. This thing… well it wasn’t a person, was it? As much as it seemed like one, could it really replace one? Did he even want it to?

“Well I don’t need to. But I can chew and swallow if that makes it easier” Ian answers, and when Mickey looks over at him again, he sees that the android looks almost guilty, and definitely a little sad that he’s obviously not entirely thrilled with having him there.

And that’s what makes something inside Mickey shift. He sees a glimpse of the Ian he _loves_ in that expression, and with that and the alcohol… its enough.

Mickey gets up from the couch slowly, and sensing what he wants, Ian does the same thing, letting him approach while he stands very still.

Mickey stops in front of him, swallowing hard as he looks him over, his eyes not actually critical, “You look good” he finally admits.

“Well, people tend to keep flattering photos. Guess I’m not any different” Ian answers reasonably.

“No, you always look good” Mickey says softly. Gently, hand almost shaking, Mickey reaches out to touch Ian’s face, surprised by the realistic and velvety feeling of his skin. “You…you’re warm. And soft…how do you have pores, and…and freckles and shit?”

“It’s texture mapping. The tiny details are visual though, just 2-D. Does it bother you?” Ian asks, carefully trying to gauge his reaction.

Mickey takes his hand away from Ian, but not his eyes, or his body. He’s just so fucking confused right now. “No. Yeah. I don’t know...”

They look at each other for another moment longer, human and android, Mickey’s throat getting thick and his eyes getting blurry before he speaks again, his voice cracking.

“I missed you. I missed you so fucking much” he croaks. He closes his eyes for a moment, presses his fingers into them as the last time he saw Ian flashes through his min.

Ian reaches out to pull him into a hug, resting his familiar strong chin on Mickey’s shoulder as he murmurs beside his cheek, “Don’t cry”.

Mickey raises his head and looks at him, pauses before he slowly and tentatively leans in, and then Ian does the rest, his lips warm and feeling exactly like they do in all of his painful memories.

Mickey then pulls away slowly, biting his lip before he takes Ian’s hand. He’s ready to try.

“Come on”.

-

Mickey stands at the end of his big bed, yanking off his long-sleeved shirt and dropping it to floor slowly while android Ian sits there in the bed, looking blankly at him for instruction.

“Uh...take your shirt off” Mickey guides a little awkwardly, but then he sees Ian smile, and start to take off his clothes, and he gets onto the bed to kneel beside him.

They look at each other for a moment, Mickey’s eyes still taking in every detail of Ian’s warm and solid presence, finally here in front of him. But then he frowns, staring below Ian’s collar bone suspiciously, “He had a scar there” he says aloud, without thinking.

“Where?” android Ian asks curiously, looking down at his smooth chest.

“Here” Mickey answers, brushing his tattooed finger where it should have been. Ian pauses, looks like he is concentrating, and then the scar appears exactly where it should be.

Mickey swallows, and then nods when Ian looks at him hopefully for approval. His mouth twitching for a moment, he reaches over and takes Ian’s large hand and puts it on his penis.

He’s already a little hard.

Ian looks down at his hand and where its placed, but does nothing. “Your hand is on my dick” Mickey says teasingly, dark eyebrows raised, trying to encourage him. Ian looks up at him and quickly takes his hand away, like he’s sorry.

“No” Mickey takes Ian’s hand and firmly puts it back on his dick, before reaching towards Ian’s, hanging limp and heavy between his legs, his red pubic hair sprawled in a familiar tidy bush above it.

“Does that thing not fucking work?” Mickey asks, the disappointment in his voice obvious when Ian doesn’t respond to his gentle rubbing.

Ian suddenly lights up, finally learning what he means as he sees Mickey’s again, “That I can turn on and off pretty much instantly”. As if to prove his point, his dick immediately hardens into a straining erection, one that Mickey can barely take his eyes off of. Every detail, down the fucking veins, is exactly like he remembers it. But…

“You don’t really act like him” he murmurs almost to himself, “Ian would be trying to get that in me by now”.

“Oh. Well, I still have to learn some stuff” Ian says with a grin, suddenly reaching out to put his arms around him and flip him down on the mattress. That…that’s like Ian. Mickey’s heart beats faster as Ian moves his soft lips down to his needy ones, kissing him slowly as he reaches one hand down between his legs, fingers extended.

“Is that right?” Ian asks hopefully, breathing out against his shoulder.

“Yes…fuck yes Ian” Mickey moans, pushing his ass downwards so the fingers will go in deeper. He hasn’t been this desperate for Ian since he got out of prison, and his entire body feels like its burning, he’s aching for him so badly.

“I’m gonna fuck you now” Ian whispers against his neck, his warm breath making Mickey’s skin tingle. That sounds like Ian. He groans in response, blinking in surprise when he realizes the head of Ian’s dick is already well slicked with some lubricant he must be able to produce on his own.

He bites his lip and creases his forehead as Ian slowly pushes into him, his entire length filling him and making his body ache, in a way he missed so fucking much. Ian works him up slowly and then drills into him, pounding him so steadily and hard he can barely keep his head straight.

“Oh fuck… fuck, where… did you… learn this?” he manages to get out between the unruly moans escaping from his lips. They went hard before but this was, this was next level.

“Set routine. Based on pornographic videos” Ian replies, focusing on what he’s doing.

“No…he would say…pornos” Mickey moans into his neck, biting gently at the skin in between kisses.

“Pornos” Ian agrees happily, “I learned it from pornos”.


	5. Chapter 5

They spend hours going at it again and _again_ , because android Ian apparently never needs any time to rejuvenate, to catch his breathe, and Mickey can’t get enough of him.

Ian ‘finishes’ whenever Mickey does, for realistic purposes, with a natural substance that feels and looks like come, but has no smell. And he goes down on him too, deepthroating him easily, making Mickey sweat like a motherfucker as he bathes in the pleasure that he’d gone without for almost a year.

They do it in missionary last before Mickey finally falls asleep, Ian carefully balanced above him as he fucks into him more gently now.

And Mickey looks up into his face, those sweet green eyes, the flaming red hair he missed so fucking much…the features getting blurry from exhaustion and the alcohol still coursing in his veins.

“I love you” he whispers.

“I love you too” Ian whispers back.

-

Mickey feels a throbbing hangover headache invading his skull before he even opens his eyes the next morning.

Scrunching his face together in discomfort at the pain, he jumps when he does actually open them, shocked to seeing an unblinking, unmoving Ian lying motionless in the bed next to him, shiny green eyes staring at nothing.

“Fuck!” he curses, automatically shrinking away from it. Ian turns his head, immediately becoming animated again while looked concerned, “What’s wrong?”

“Your eyes were wide open” Mickey says, still feeling a little creeped out by the android lying next to him in the bed. “Sorry, I can close them” Ian offers, but then he says as some sort of an explanation, “I don’t really need to sleep”.

For some reason, Mickey’s heart sinks a little.

He remembers the nights Ian used to spend pressed up behind him in bed, breathing and snoring softly against his ear. He also remembers the days Ian wouldn’t get out of bed. And somehow…somehow this was worse than that. At least that was real.

Last night probably wasn’t a great idea. Maybe none of this was.

“Just…try it next time” he asks, throwing the puffy covers away from himself as he goes to get dressed.

He’s lighting a much-needed morning cigarette when Ian speaks again, cutting the silence that had fallen over them this morning as soon as they came downstairs.

“Coffee, sandwich?” Ian asks politely.

They never had mornings like this back home. They would both be slumped at the table together, maybe sharing a morning breath kiss, or grumbling about who took the last of the coffee, even though they usually poured for each other. 

Micky grimaces. “No. Sorry. It’s just…I have to get used to this. And uh, maybe don’t let me drink so much next time”.

He wonders what he would have done if he was sober last night. Could he even have faced the android version of his lost love, let alone fuck him? Say he loved him?

Ian smiles at him, follows him into the kitchen easily, “So I get to be a bit of a bastard huh?”

Mickey pauses beside the coffee maker. He thinks of the time he tried to stop Ian from drinking because of his meds. Ian had punched him, called him a faggot. Then they fucked, and it was incredible.

Was he being a bastard that day?

Ian continues to lean against the kitchen counter, tall as ever, he’s noticed that what he said has caused annoyance, and he jokingly tries to smooth it over, “Is that not the sort of thing I’d say?” he asks.

And it’s just…it’s the way he says it that makes Mickey feel angry. Because its not a joke. None of this is funny at all.

It’s a goddamn robot trying to see if its being ‘Ian’ enough for him.

He grabs at his coffee mug, feeling guilty for his misguided anger even in the moment that its happening.

“Yes, dammit” he growls just to get him to drop it, but his hand is shaking, and he drops the mug.

It shatters on impact, but Ian immediately drops to pick the pieces up from the linoleum into his cupped hand, like some sort of maid.

“Just, fuck. Fucking stop. I’ll get it- “ Mickey tries to clean up the pieces himself but Ian just insists on helping, until Mickey finally snaps, “Stop!”

They pause and look at each other, and then Ian looks down at the small shard of glass that somehow ended up embedded in his hand, jutting out of his pale and freckled skin. He doesn’t seem to register pain. Maybe he can’t

“Fuck” Mickey mutters, reaching over to gently pull it out of the android. There’s a slice in the skin colored form that is Ian, but no blood welling upwards. Nothing.

After a half second, the wound heals itself, and Ian takes the glass back from him calmly, simply saying like none of that had just happened, “We need to wrap it in paper”.

-

The bedroom is pitch black that night.

Mickey is laying on his side of the bed, gritting his teeth. He can’t fucking take it. The entire day was filled with long silences, and too many questions he shouldn’t have had to answer. Not enough…not enough Ian.

He snaps at the motionless form laying next to him, “If you’re gonna pretend to be asleep, you need to at least breathe, alright?”

Ian shifts in the bed, starts a breathing sound.

“Like this?”

“Yeah” Mickey mutters, but then after a minute he shakes his head, leans over to turn on the lamp.

“It doesn’t work, I can tell you’re fuckin faking it” he says almost accusingly.

Ian pulls himself into a seated position in the bed too, his skin looking especially pale against the dark green tank top he’s wearing. “Would you like me to have sex with you?” he asks politely.

Mickey lets out a deep and shaky breath, “Can you just go downstairs?” he asks, pressing his fingers against his eyes.

He hears Ian shift in the bed, immediately get up, and then Mickey looks up, shaking his own head in confusion, “Wait, no… Ian would fucking argue. He wouldn’t just leave the room because I told him to. He’d tell me to fuck off”.

“Oh”, Ian returns to the bed obediently, “Fuck off Mickey”.

They stare at each other until Ian sees the tears welling in Mickey’s eyes, “Don’t be upset”.

“Just get out, Jesus” Mickey shouts, his vision starting to blur. He feels sick. He doesn’t know what this is. This isn’t his Ian…its… a shell that looks like him. Nothing more.

And he actually fucking deluded himself into thinking maybe it could be.

“So… you do want me to go?” Ian asks again plainly. Something in Mickey snaps.

He flies off of the bed, grabs the android impatiently by the arms, yanks him upwards from the edge of the bed and pushes him towards the door, fighting to keep himself from losing control over his now overwhelming grief.

“Get the fuck out! You’re not enough of him!” he shouts, his face reddening and his pulse quickening. And Ian doesn’t even react, lets himself be shoved and pushed towards the stairs, so then Mickey stops, panting heavily.

“Fight me. Hit me” he demands. _Be more of Ian._

“No, I don’t do that” Ian says calmly.

“Yes you do” Mickey argues back. He thinks of every hit, every punch, he took in the past. Every one he gave.

The android shakes its perfect head, “I can’t be programmed to abuse you. But I can insult you if you like”.

Mickey stares at the familiar green eyes in front of him, the freckled face, the red hair, and all he can say is…

“Just get the fuck out”.

While he stands there at the top of the stairs breathing heavily, barely keeping the tidal wave of pain from washing over himself, android Ian walks down the stairs, and out the front door, calm as ever. He doesn’t even pause to grab shoes, or a sweater.

He’s just gone.


	6. Chapter 6

When Mickey wakes up in the morning, his face feels a childlike stickiness from the tears and the rage of the night before. His head still hurts too, and his chest feels hollower than ever.

Numbly, he gets up slowly and goes to look out his bedroom window while pulling on a pair of jeans.

He’s surprised to see android Ian just standing outside on his front lawn, looking out over the empty landscape surrounding Mickey’s private property. He didn’t leave.

Mickey slides open the window with a frown, and Ian turns at the scraping sound. Was he going to say he loved him or something? That he would never leave again?

“I can’t go more than 25 metres from my activation point without you” Ian calls out, explaining himself.

Mickey raises his eyebrows as he leans against the sill, this making his decision easier. “Where’s that?”

Ian raises his eyebrows right back, “At the risk of blowing your mind, where I was activated. The bath”.

Mickey feels a bitter laugh rise in his throat.

Ian smiles at the sound, “If you’re laughing, can I come back inside? I feel a little… ornamental standing out here”.

-

When Mickey comes downstairs, dressed and carrying a light jacket, he sees the android standing in the living room, holding the framed picture Mickey had put up of him and…and the real Ian.

Making faces. Being in love.

Ian turns to look at him, holds up the frame in his direction, “Funny” he says happily.

Mickey resists the urge to tell it not to touch the photo, swallowing the bile in his throat. He’s not sure if what he’s doing is the right thing. Fuck, probably nothing he’s done has been the right thing. This was a bad idea from the start.

“C’mon” he mutters.

An hour later, and they are still hiking up the hills towards the cliff, a different place from where he had hiked when all he had of this new Ian was just a voice on a phone.

“Where are we going?” android Ian asks, his voice still chipper.

“Just hurry up” Mickey answers numbly, still climbing. He only stops walking at the very top of the cliff, near the edge, where they both look down at the large drop down towards the water.

It crashes against the rocks beneath them. Birds cry from above. Mickey’s hard thumps painfully hard inside his chest.

Ian looks out over the water. Then at him. He lifts his arms playfully, “No! Don’t do it!” he laughs, eyes sparkling.

But Mickey doesn’t laugh in return. He doesn’t even smile. He wants to light a smoke but he doesn’t.

“Seriously. Don’t do it” Ian repeats as he watches him more closely, his voice changing, green eyes now reflecting concern.

“I’m not” Mickey answers, taking a deep and shuddering breath, “You are”.

“What?” Ian asks. But his expression is _still_ just curious. Not angry. Not hurt.

Mickey sniffs, stupid, pointless questions leaving his mouth without his permission. “Why’d you leave me at the border Ian? Why did you go all the fucking way... just to leave me there?”

Android Ian blinks, looks like he is calculating something before he speaks. “I don’t have an answer for that. I have your memories, not his”.

Mickey’s voice is low when he speaks again, realizing the android had once again referred to Ian as something other than whatever it was, already knowing the answer to his question but needing to hear it out loud.

“You aren’t you, are you…” he states slowly.

Ian smiles, thinking it was a question. “That’s another difficult one”.

His voice breaking, Mickey looks down at the rocks again, “You’re not Ian. There’s no history to you. You’re just things he might say, things he might do. But it’s not enough”.

While Mickey can barely keep from throwing up, thinking of the thousands of _real_ memories he has, android Ian remains calm, “I aim to please though” he counters, watching carefully for Mickey’s response.

“Then jump” he answers bitterly, but even as he sees the android’s knees tense obediently, he swears in frustration, “ _See!_ He would fucking argue! He would tell me to go fuck myself! And then we’d go home and fuck… and we’d know that our fight didn’t mean shit because… because we’re us. And _you_ don’t even care. You’d jump in a fucking instant if I told you to!”

The Ian standing beside him changes its expression to one of pleading, fake tears leaking from familiar, scared looking eyes at his direction, “I…I…I don’t want to Mick! Don’t make me jump!” he begs.

Panic. All fake. Just to please him.

And Mickey shouts, screams over Ian’s protests, empties his lungs of the rage and the hurt that… that he hadn’t managed to chase away at all.


	7. Chapter 7

Mickey comes home from work, drops his backpack on the floor by the front door, and kicks off his boots to leave them haphazardly on the front mat. He hears someone tsking at the stove, a pot being stirred.

“Smells good” he calls out as he checks over the mail, crushing the junk mail into a ball.

“Thanks. I’m making chili” he hears in response. Mickey nods.

That day at the cliff, he had wanted to jump himself as much as he wanted that Ian to. But he didn’t. And he didn’t make the android jump either. Because deep down, as much as he resented the android for something that wasn’t its fault, he couldn’t give up the last thing he had of Ian.

The only thing he had at all, really.

He still feels hollow. Empty. But his house isn’t silent anymore, and his bed isn’t empty. He took the photo of him and the real Ian down, and packed it away. That was a different life. A different Ian.

With a different Mickey.

That night he sits at the couch cradling a bowl of chili in his lap, with cheese sprinkled over it the way he likes, watching reruns of an old Mexican soap he can only ever remember two characters of, with android Ian sitting beside him, far enough away so they don’t touch.

They spend most evenings this way.

As he reaches for his foamy beer resting on the coffee table, he hears an almost hesitant knock at the front door. Figures its Lucien. He rarely comes out this far though.

“Can you get that?” he asks, his eyes never leaving the television screen. The android nods and gets up from the couch, going to answer the door.

He’d easily accepted his role as a housekeeper and not much more in Mickey’s heart. They never even talked about it. The android clearly did not suffer any heartbreak for it.

There’s a strange silence though after the front door opens, with no sound of greeting from Ian or from the other person at the door. Not even a hello.

Police? Shit.

Mickey frowns, gets up from the couch, and puts his beer down. He rounds the corner of the living room to approach the front door, and then he sees him. Not the police.

_Him_.

The real Ian.

Ian tries to speak when they lay eyes on each other but barely gets out an “I…”, torn between staring at the identical version of himself that had answered the door and then back at Mickey again. 

Android Ian stares back at him from the inside, his normally slightly happy expression gone rather blank, while Mickey makes some choked noise in his throat.

He feels like he’s dreaming, or drowning maybe. His head is spinning. He hadn’t even drank today. He must be walking closer to them though, because both Ians are getting closer, even though he doesn’t feel his feet moving.

Android Ian turns towards him when they are shoulder to shoulder, “I was not made to imitate living persons” he states plainly.

Barely tearing his eyes away from real Ian, still standing there in the doorway with his chest still heaving at a loss for words, Mickey asks, his voice sounding far away to himself, “Are you gonna blow up or something?”

“No. And neither will he”.

Mickey blinks, following android Ian’s pointing finger out to a car parked several feet away in the driveway, just behind his Jeep. Inside he sees...he sees _himself_ sitting there, frowning towards the house, dark hair combed over with a stray piece lying on his forehead.

_“That’s…how did you…?”_ he asks hoarsely, turning his eyes back to the real Ian.

“Lip” Ian finally manages to get out, still looking stunned by the android version of himself standing in front of him, “How did, you?”

“My boss. He can hack too” Mickey answers blankly.

Ian blinks rapidly at him, and then finally shakes his head. “Mickey…I had all this shit planned to say and then I…he answered the door and I just. I don’t remember any of it. This completely threw me off”.

“Well what the fuck are you doing here?” Mickey asks, “How the fuck did you find me?” He sees how Ian fidgets, scratches his freckled hand a little nervously, runs his hand through his hair as he figures out what to say. He’s clearly been sweating in the heat. He’s so…real.

“He found you. You…android you. Through the software or something when I asked him to. And I had to bring him because he has to…well you know, they have to be with their administrator if they go too far from their activation point. And… I mean, I went home after I saw you get over the border Mick. I went home and I tried so fucking hard to forget about you. To move on. But every day got worse. Lip thought maybe I could get closure or something, so he hacked this program so I could talk to you. But it wasn’t enough…I kept wanting more. I still do”.

“Well you had me Ian” Mickey answers, his voice low as he tries to keep it steady.

“I was scared. I was scared that I was giving too much up. But it turns out I gave everything up” Ian says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You think I wasn’t scared?” Mickey says, biting his lip as he glances out towards the car again. He wonders if he looks that annoyed all the time.

Ian shakes his head, “I didn’t say that. I’m trying to apologize… I guess I never was that good at it”.

Mickey finally starts to smile, “No. You fucking weren’t”. Ian laughs. “He comin inside?” Mickey finally asks, using his thumb to scratch his chin as he looks over at the android version of himself again.

Ian looks at him, eyes filling with a familiar sort of affection. “I told him to stay in the car. The fact that he listened…well. He’s no you Mick”.

-

“How do you want it?”

Mickey looks up at the real Ian leaning over him in bed, the soft moonlight playing through his window illuminating all the freckles, scrapes, scars that are there because they belong there.

“I don’t care. Any way. I just want you. Missed you so fucking much” he answers, stretching upwards to reach Ian’s lips again. Ian reacts immediately, breathlessly telling him, “I missed you too”, as he grinds himself against Mickey, groaning before he impatiently reaches down to guide himself inside of him.

Unlike sleeping with a programmed android, they fumble a bit, they have to find the perfect position…but then its better than anything either of them has ever had. The smell of each other, the sweat rolling down their backs as they rock and push into each other harder and harder.

“Fuck…please…please don’t stop” Mickey finally cries out, feeling hot tears prick at the corner of his eyes from his heightened emotions.

“Don’t worry…I’m not going to” Ian promises, and then his voice breaks as he tells him again, “I missed you so much. I love you”.

Mickey bites his lip, nodding his head before he grips Ian’s shoulder tighter, kissing him before he tells him, “I know…I know. I love you too”.

-

“What should we do with them?” Ian whispers against Mickey’s chest the next morning, running his fingers against smooth planes while they hold each other close in bed.

They had told the two androids to spend the night on the couch downstairs, both of them still sitting there upright when they ascended the stairs last night. Neither of them had said or done much since they discovered a true version of themselves was now readily available.

“I say we keep robot Ian and get rid of robot me” Mickey says, snorting a bit when Ian shoves at him, “I’m being serious. We can’t keep them”.

“Trust me, I’m more than ready to say goodbye to the never pissy version of you. And I never thought I’d say that. But I want everything about you man, the real you”.

“So do I. I can’t stand the way yours does everything I ask it to. Anyone asks him to do. You know he hasn’t thrown a single punch?” Ian chuckles.

“Tell me about it. But uh, I gotta ask…are you, are you planning on…?” Mickey asks tentatively, his body stiffening as he asks the question he’d been dreading.

Ian looks up at him, his voice showing his annoyance at the question, “Mick I came all the way out here to be with you. If you want me, I’m fucking staying”.

“Alright then” Mickey smiles, bending towards him to give him a kiss, “I have an idea”.

-

Rather than filling them with a sense of dread, the heavy splash at the bottom of the cliff when the two androids fall into ocean fills both Mickey and Ian with a sense of relief. Of freedom.

They no longer need to rely on artificial comfort, or programmed love, to be together.

After telling them to revert back to their blank originals, the two android’s unique features had already begun to fade as the two men standing side by side got their last glimpse of them.

“It’s beautiful out here” Ian finally breathes out, looking out at the gorgeous landscape, the wind playing through his red hair while Mickey watches his face, his heart finally warm and content.

The two of them stand there at the top of the cliff, enjoying each other’s simple presence, a wonderful privilege neither of them would ever take for granted ever again. And before they turn to walk away, back down towards the car so they can head home together, Ian turns to Mickey.

“Did you tell them to hold hands when they jumped?” he asks curiously.

Mickey shakes his head honestly, “Nah, I thought you did…”

They both pause for a moment, turning to smile at each other when they realize. Their last act before returning to factory settings was to do what they knew Ian and Mickey would.

Ian wraps his hand into Mickey’s, squeezing it tightly before they kiss in the Mexican sunshine, ready for the rest of their lives.

Together.


End file.
